


The Fall

by galliumspoon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Reichenbach Falls, Reichenbach Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galliumspoon/pseuds/galliumspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scene of the Fall, and what was going on at both ends of the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock and John don't belong to me. (Obviously.)  
> I used the script for Reichenbach and built their thoughts and actions around it, find it [here](http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/30648.html).

"Falling's just like flying but with a more permanent destination."

Moriarty's words rang in Sherlock's ears as he took a hesitant step forward onto the ledge. His shaking fingers pressed the call button on his phone. Wait, _shaking_ fingers? When have his hands been anything but steady? He needed it for his line of work, and experiments, where a tremor could mean a missed shot or burnt eyebrows.

John fumbled for his phone and answers the call with a breathless, "Hello?" and presses the phone to his ear. "John," Sherlock's voice comes in as John is walking towards St. Barts, "Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" Sherlock's voice crackles through the line again, "Turn around and walk back the way you came, now."

"No, I'm coming in." John sounds obstinate, like a third World War couldn't stop him from coming into the hospital. "Just do as I ask. Please." John, bless him, listens to Sherlock's frantic words and only responds with, "Where?"

"Stop there."

"Sherlock?"

He almost loses his nerve, he doesn't want to leave John like this, but he has to. _For Queen and country_ as he once so eloquently put it. "Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop."

John looks in horror at his friend standing on the edge of the hospital rooftop, "Oh God." His friend's voice sounds shaky and close to tears in his ear. "I…I…I can't come down, so we'll…we'll just have to do it like this."

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true."

John stares, uncomprehending, at the tiny figure on the rooftop. "Wh-What?" Sherlock almost whispers into the phone, so John can barely hear his reply , "Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." John sees his head turn to look at something on the roof. "Why are you saying this?" he asks, voice urgent.

"I'm a fake."

"Sherlock…"

Sherlock struggles to keep the tears from his voice, "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson, and Molly… In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." John's voice sounds furious as he replies, "Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met…" he hears John take a deep breath "the _first time we met_ , you knew all about my sister, right?"

"Nobody could be that clever."

"You could."

John forces as much conviction into his words as possible. For as many things as Sherlock Holmes is, he is most _decidedly_ not stupid. No one will ever convince John that he was not the most clever and resourceful person John himself knew.

Sherlock lets go, a tear falls, and he resists wiping it away with his hand. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything I could to impress you… It's a trick, just a magic trick." He can see John's head start to shake. "No. All right, stop it now." his friend starts towards the hospital entrance, walking determinedly.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move."

"All right."

"Keep your eyes fixed on me." Sherlock pleads, sounding terrified. "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?" John sounds uncertain, like he knows something bad will happen. Sherlock absently wishes he could sooth his fears.

"This phone call - it's er…" the voice on the phone pauses, "it's my note. It's what people do, don't they - leave a note?"

"Leave a note when?"

"Goodbye, John."

John shakes his head up at Sherlock, his heart splitting in two. "No," he begs, "don't."

Sherlock drops his phone onto the roof. He feels John's eyes on him as he spreads his arms. He takes a deep breath and lifts one of his feet off the edge to take a step forward.

A body falls like a bird shot down mid-flight.

"No, SHERLOCK!"

A body on the pavement.

Blood matting dark curls.

A beige room with a brown chair, where a man curls into himself, opposite a psychiatrist in an equally bland chair, listening to the rain hitting the window.

"My best friend… Sherlock Holmes… is dead."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think. This is my first work so I love all feedback.  
> THANKS TO MY FRIEND KOFI FOR READING IT FIRST!


End file.
